Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"One, two, three..." Lys counted the copper coins in her hand over and over again, treasures from the tavern keeper's payment. Earning three copper coins a month at seven years old, she was blessed by the Dawn Goddess for even being employed!

Though children of the empire start working at the tender age of four, jobs are scarce and those that pay are exceedingly rare treasures.

Lys wrapped her money in layers of miscellaneous items and tucked it close, then diligently set about clearing the tables.

Old Mac's tavern did well, especially with bounty hunters who flirted with death's edge, indulging in drink when money was at hand. Such commoners, not even transcendent beings, held cheap lives and never knew if they'd fall to beasts or the undead next—carpe diem was their creed.

"Have you heard? The cursed land of Dayak City is actually about to welcome a new lord!"

"A new lord? If you hadn't mentioned it, I'd have forgotten that our forsaken place was still a 'land without a master.'"

"It's no longer called Dak City; the first thing our lord did upon arrival was change the name. Now, it's known as Lansville!"

"Lansville? That's a peculiar name."

"Who cares what it's called! It won't be long before the city is submerged in a sea of bones."

The western boundary of this domain meets the Endless Plains, where liches and the undead know not the meaning of restraint. Over centuries, they have ‘eroded’ millions of square kilometers of territory that once belonged to Unalia.

Three hundred years ago, caravans would set out from here and take more than a month to reach the border. Today, this place has become the border.

In a bid to survive, nobility constantly lead their guards to safer territories, and over time, only a viscounty remained here.

Going by the rate at which the Endless Plains are expanding, in ten years, this place will be nothing but bone.

Those who could have fled long ago; even the nobles and officials who remain are here only to gather enough wealth to ensure a comfortable life once they relocate.

The king, valuing his pride, refuses to declare these lands forsaken. So, by imperial law, these territories were combined, giving birth to an enormous domain of eight million square kilometers!

But how much of that land is actually habitable by humans? Only about 20 square kilometers, or 30,000 acres.

This meager and barren safe zone must support over three hundred officials and their families, as well as a city defense force of two thousand.

The blood of the commoners here has been drained dry.

As for the lower-class commoners, they never know when they might become slaves or fertilizer. What happens ten years from now is far too distant to consider.

Lifting a bucket larger than herself, Lilith gathered the tableware. Though her arms and legs were thin, she possessed surprising strength.

News of the lord's arrival was abuzz, and while seven-year-old Lilith didn't quite understand what that meant, she heard the bounty hunters in the tavern say that a new lord's arrival in a territory is always celebrated lavishly, with a banquet that could cost thousands of gold coins!

Such feasts would be held daily, thirty days in a row!

A hundred copper makes a silver, and a hundred silver makes a gold. In Lilith's not-so-long life, she had never possessed even a silver coin, let alone gold.

She envied the lord's wealth immensely: "The lord must be able to eat white bread every day!" She had never tasted white bread, which was said to be a top-tier delicacy made from pure wheat.

The patrons of the tavern were ordinary folk who wouldn't order expensive and unsatisfying white bread, so it was never sold there.

She had only heard of it through the words of bounty hunters and had never seen it. To her, dark bread was already a rare delicacy; she could hardly imagine the wondrous nature of white bread.

Hearing Lilith's envy, the tavern's patrons couldn't help but snicker.

"Wheat? My lord would never touch such lowly grain. Ever heard of magical wheat? Even the water the nobility drink can enhance their magical powers!"

To Lilith, ordinary wheat was already quite remarkable, and magical wheat seemed like something beyond belief. At this moment, the lord's image loomed vastly influential and mighty in her mind, even more formidable than the tax collectors!

"Old Mick, put today's ale on my tab, I’ll settle it next time."

"Mick, add mine to the slate as well."

Perhaps it was the bad precedent that was set, but the place was rife with voices asking to pay later.

Lilith was beside herself with worry. Bounty hunters were drifters who risked their lives for money; they might be gravely injured or even killed on any given day—there were countless reasons they might vanish by tomorrow.

To ask for credit and pay later rounded up, in her mind, to a desire to duck out on the bill.

It had been no small feat for Lilith to secure a job at Old Mick's tavern, and she wanted nothing less than for the tavern to fail because it wasn't making money.

"No, that won't do!" Lilith stamped her foot in desperation, but her voice was like that of a mosquito and failed to garner much attention against the group of towering and desperate men.

Lilith might have been overlooked due to her stature, but Old Mick was a different story. In his youth, he had been a Level 32 Arcane Mage. After losing an arm, he opened this tavern, and even though his strength had waned with age, he remained a Level 30 caster—few dared to cause trouble or skip out on the bill in his establishment.

In the past, faced with such situations, he would have briskly drawn his wand and stripped the troublemakers clean before throwing them out.

However, this time Old Mick made no move to draw his wand. "Lilith, fetch me a piece of parchment."

Lilith was close to tears in her urgency, but Old Mick patted her head to explain, "The cost of hosting so many feasts is considerable. To cover this expense and to herald the lord's arrival, everyone will soon be taxed heavily."

The color drained from Lilith's face at this frightful revelation.

It had been fifty years since Dayack City had seen its last lord, and Lilith, who had not experienced frequent changes in lordship, could not fathom the hellish reality of five lords in three years.

Freemen had to pay numerous taxes: some to the empire, some as 'offerings' to the gods, some to the lord, and many others that even the tax officials could not clearly justify.

Every year, every month, every week, even every day, there were all sorts of taxes to be paid.

Can't pay up? Then you’d be stripped of your freeman status and become a slave, more short-lived than livestock.

Then these slaves would be sold—and the lord would have money again.

Old Mick was well into his years. Though he had only just entered the realm of a mid-level caster, his life was longer than average. Fifty-odd years ago, despite spending most of his savings on injuries, a caster had many ways to make money, and his financial base was much richer than that of the ordinary citizen. Yet even he had nearly been driven to ruin by one 'new lord' after another.

Even a supernatural being nearly became a slave due to unpaid taxes, not to mention others.

Once, Dayak City was famous for its auctions, but endless plains' erosion and the lords' unrestrained plundering turned this already precarious city into a barren and lifeless one.

Old Mack's stern heart softened slightly at the sight of the bewildered and frail child.

Under the Chitty family's control, the city's commoners barely clung to life, but the arrival of a new lord was like a crushing final straw - and not the "last" one.

Old Mack wasn't worried for himself. As a caster, he could fend for himself anywhere. But the fate of others in the city was less certain.

"Go, bring the parchment." Old Mack, who never allowed credit, showed a rare kindness. Bounty hunters earn more than average, but they lack the concept of saving. Keeping enough for the previous tax was hard enough, let alone for the unknown amount of new tax due tomorrow.

Running up a tab for this drink, if they could weather this crisis, they could pay back later. If not, he had connections with slave traders. Strong laborers would fetch a good price, which would cover his dues.

Although Lilith was only seven and had started working as an apprentice at four, she was no fool. She knew what the new tax meant, so her mind went blank with fear as she instinctively followed Old Mack's order to fetch the parchment.

Not even Old Mack's sympathetic extra copper coin could lighten her mood after work.

With heavy steps, she returned home to find her injured father looking twenty years older and her mother, just back from work, wearing a face full of worry.

Her siblings were equally lost in a daze of confusion and panic.

Clearly, the arrival of the new lord and the impending new tax had become "common knowledge" among all the city's freemen.

"The banquet will last a month. I've heard some lords will tax after it ends. We have one month. If dad recovers soon, we can surely save enough money," said Lilith's eldest brother, a twelve-year-old who was already half the family's support.

His daily wage was half a copper coin, while their mother, working three jobs, only made a copper coin a day.

Their father's daily wage was two copper coins, more than the rest of the family combined.

The words of Lilith's elder brother were undeniably true, but truth and reality often diverge more than mere words can bridge.

"I've inquired about the price of a hemostatic potion from an apprentice alchemist. It's a whole five silver coins!"

Five silver coins, equal to five hundred copper coins, would require their family of six to work relentlessly for nearly three hundred days without spending a dime.

A price utterly unaffordable for their family.

Despair clouded the faces of all six family members, their expressions ashen.

Lilith feared the most, knowing she'd be the first to be sold if they couldn't gather enough money since her siblings earned more than her.